"Lo! Imvungayo. The seat of the Great Great One—the Strong Wind that burns from the North," murmured Ngumúnye, interpreting his glance of inquiry. "Come—let us go down."
As the great impi, which up till now had been marching "at ease," emerged upon the plain, once more the warriors formed into rank, and advanced in serried columns—singing a war-song. Immediately the whole land was as a disturbed beehive. Men, women, and children flocked forth to welcome them, the latter especially, pressing forward with eager curiosity to obtain a glimpse of the white man, the first of the species they had ever seen, and the air rang with the shrill, excited cries of astonishment wherewith they greeted his appearance, and the calm, unruffled way in which he ignored both their presence and amazement. Much singing followed; the stay-at-homes answering the war-song of the warriors in responsive strophes—but there was little variety in these, which consisted largely, as it seemed to Laurence, of exuberant references to "The Spider" and praise of the king.
As they drew near the great kraal, two companies of girls, arrayed in beaded dancing dresses, advanced, waving green boughs, and, halting in front of the returning impi, sang a song of welcome. Their voices were melodious and pleasing to the last degree, imparting a singular charm to the somewhat monotonous repetition of the wild chant—now in a soft musical contralto, now shrilling aloft in a note of pealing gladness. Laurence, who was beginning to feel vividly interested in this strange race of valiant fighters, failed not to note that many of these girls were of extraordinarily prepossessing appearance, with their tall, beautiful figures and supple limbs, their clear eyes and white teeth, and bright, pleasing faces. Then suddenly song and dance alike ceased, and the women, parting into two companies, the whole impi moved forward again, marching between them.
The huge kraal was very near now, the palisade lined with the faces of eager spectators. But Laurence, quick to take in impressions, noticed that here there were no severed heads stuck about in ghastly ornament. This splendid race, as pitiless and unsparing in victory as it was intrepid in the field, was clearly above the more monstrous and revolting forms of savage barbarity. Then all further reflections were diverted into an entirely new channel, for the whole impi—tossing the unarmed right hand aloft—thundered aloud the salute royal, then fell prostrate:
"Bayéte!"
The roar—sudden, and as one man—of that multitude of voices was startling, well-nigh terrifying. Laurence, unprepared for any such move, found himself standing there—he alone, erect—while around him, as so much mown corn, lay prostrate on their faces this immense company of armed warriors. Then he took in the reason.
Just in front of where the impi had halted rose a small cluster of trees crowning a knoll. Beneath the shade thus formed was a group of men, in a half-squatting, half-crouching attitude—all save one.
Yes. One alone was standing—standing a little in advance of the group—standing tall, erect, majestic—in a splendid attitude of ease and dignity, as, with head thrown slightly back, he darted his clear expressive eyes proudly over the bending host. A man in the prime of life—a perfect embodiment of symmetry and strength—he wore no attempt at gew-gaws or meretricious adornment. His shaven head was crowned with the usual isicoco, or ring, whose jetty blackness seemed to render the rich copper hue of the smooth skin even lighter, and for all clothing he wore a mútya of lion-skin and leopards' tails. Yet Laurence Stanninghame, gazing upon him, recognized a natural dignity—nay, a majesty enthroning this nearly naked savage such as he had never seen quite equalled in the aspect or deportment of any other living man. Clearly this was the king—Tyisandhlu—"The Strong Wind that burns from the North." Removing his hat with one hand he raised the other above his head, and repeated the salute royal as he had heard it from the warriors.
The king acknowledged his greeting by a brief murmur. Then he called aloud:
"Rise up, my children."